


(She's) Numb-er Than Gold

by clytemnestras



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's disgusting. Faith loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(She's) Numb-er Than Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aaronlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaronlisa/gifts).



> originally posted 27/6/14

There's sweat everywhere, dripping down her face, tracing her spine and dipping low between her breasts, passed between bodies like a virus.  
  
It's disgusting. Faith loves it.  
  
It's the nitty gritty, something unashamedly filthy about the way bodies sway and grind, how one slip of a hip turns into a fucking battleground. It's all sweat and sleaze, dirtbags wheezing sex noises in your ear and dealers lurking along the sidelines like shadows. This shit here? It's real.  
  
Real.  
  
And what the hell's that when it's at home?  
  
Suddenly she's gonna puke, her guts lost somewhere in her throat. She shoves dancers away, dodges fists, elbows three separate guys in the face until she's out in someplace breatheable, the system shock of night air against drenched skin. She huffs back clean air like it's blow, panting like a frickin' dog until the urge to heave passes.  
  
"Well I can't say I'm surprised to find in such a dive, but I'll admit disappointment."  
  
There's a whisper of smoke inhalation, some tobacco rich cigarette snuffed out against the cracked brick walls and crushed beneath pointed stilettos.  
  
Faith smirks, and it finds its match in its perfectly painted counterpart. This is a dance she knows, blurred between façade and total naked honesty.  
  
"Oh, don't tell me you've missed the taste of sweat and common dirt against your lips, little miss power suit. Up for another walk on the wildside, are we?"  
  
She likes to pretend with this one, like she's just a bit thuggish, not irredeemable; some shitty college experiment and not a total fuck up. It's harder to let that part out with girls.  
  
It's not like she knows just how much Lilah wants to sink her manicured nails into the monster.  
  
"Faith, surely we're beyond the streetworker dialogue now? You're gonna follow me back to the office just like always, you'll screw me like you've got something to prove and we'll both end up with leather-burns on our asses. Hell, if you impress me I might even offer you a job. We both know you like a boss with power." The heel clicks ring out through the alley like church bells.  
  
Her back is grating against the bricks, coiffured hair tickling her cheeks. She thinks about the thighs straddling hers and how weak they are, how easily they could be crushed. She thinks about all of the power tucked away behind the painted smile.  
  
She leans up for a kiss but drags her fingers through Lilah's hair, tugging viciously. Her lips trace Lilah's, lick them until they come apart and she takes every moan she gets like a payment check. This is not a power play, or some fairytale seduction, just a way to fill the ache she's gonna drown in. They rock against each other like horny fucking kids, chasing heart-racing, sharing ugly sweat stains between synthetic cotton and Prada.  
  
Call the tryst mutually beneficial, say this is the real reason she came out tonight (not to get lost, get broken, get wrecked), say the sharp nails fisted in her top are solid and real as anything else.  
  
If she can match Lilah's chuckles blow for blow she can pretend like the two of them can take on the world.


End file.
